Dear Gwenog, Life Sucks
by SmileXDanceLove
Summary: Hmm, this one doesn't write back, so she'll use it, and she'll name it Gwenog, after Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies. Now what to write? Ginny's diary in miscellaneous order from her 3rd-7th years.
1. 6th Year: The Throes of Love

**A/N: This is going to be an out-of-order diary of Ginny's. Just a teenage Girl venting her frustration, you know? I hope you enjoy it. If you have any ideas, just tell me in a review or message me! Enjoy.**

September, 6th Year

Dear Gwen,

There's a multitude of problems one encounters when in love with a hero, a world-saver, so to speak.

First off, he's probably so preoccupied with, well, world-saving to even look at you. It's even worse when he's got these amazing green eyes, and that _jawline_... I should stop. Sorry...

And, if your love _is_ requited, there's the risk of him dying, or leaving, just to finish his hero business.

Just when things finally get going...Damn.

That is my case.

'Cause I'm just lucky enough to fall in love with Harry-Bloody-Potter.

That git left me.

To save us all.

GAH. I'm so selfish, aren't I?

I mean, the wizarding world is at stake, and all I'm caring about is myself. Damn it, Gwen, has something like this happened to you?

No, I guess not.

Well, its pure and utter bollocks, cause I'm just like, "kiss me you fool", and he's all "Okay sure, oh wait, gotta go kick some death eater arse, see you if I'm not dead!".

See? Bollocks.

See you later, I have to go annoy my favorite Carrows!

-Ginny


	2. 3rd Year: Change

Hello?

Helloooo?

Merlin! Dumbledore's wearing no pants!

Dear Diary,

Seeing as you have not written back (trust me, bad experience), even to that Dumbledore remark, which is not true by the way, I have decided to keep you as a personal journal. I would say "dear journal", but I like three syllable words. Except Ginevra. I just shivered a little bit, just thinking about it.

But, you know...you should have a name. A good name. Obviously. Something unlike "Ginevra".

I'll work on that.

I like writing, you know? Although the 'incident' happened, and a normal person should be put completely put off from writing again, I am not normal. So when I bought this little book from Flourish & Blotts, I figured I might as well pick up the habit. As long as you wouldn't possess me.

So I had to check. I would make you pinky swear, but you don't have pinkies, so I'll deal.

Few things you should know:

1. My name is Ginevra(Ginny to you) Molly Weasley.

2. I am a witch.

3. I attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and am currently in my third year.

4. I have 6 gits of brothers(in descending order): Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George(Fred's twin), and Ron, who's a fourth year.

5. Ron is best friends with only the coolest people on the planet: uber-amazing Hermione, with the most awesome hair, and brain for that matter, and Harry Potter. Sigh.

6. I'm in love with Harry 're destined to be together. He's an orphan, and his parents died to save him from Tom-...You-know-who. He's got these emerald eyes, and jet-black hair.

That poor, poor soul. Perfect for me to comfort and nurture...Sigh. Roll your eyes all you want, but I'll say "I told you so" when there are little Potter-Weasley children all around.

7. I get pleasure out of using excessive punctuation. !,?...;?&: (See!? It's fun!)

8. I have very scattered thoughts. There's, like, seven Ginnys in my brain, all competing for my attention. So beware, cause one day my head might explode.

Reading over this, I sound confident. But, here's the thing: I am in no way confident. My brothers put me down, i'm the youngest of seve children, I am known only as the girl who was possessed, and I am majorly in love with the saviorof the wizarding world who barely notices me.

Sure, I have the same plight as everyother thirteen year old girl. But I'm different. I'm bloody good at quidditch, I am not a haughty bitch (sorry), I'm not crazy (I just am while writing in this), and well, we can work on looks later.

Well, the whole point of this very off topic monologue is that, I want to change. I want to make something of myself. I want to be inspiring, I want to be a good person, a talented witch...I dunno. I want to be noticed, but for the right reasos, you know?

-Ginny Weasley


	3. 3rd Year: Of Dances and Dreams and such

Dear Gwenog,

I've decided to call you Gwenog. No shit, right?

I LOVE the Holyhead Harpies. They're a quidditch team and they're brilliant, and Gwenog Jones is my bloody idol.

So...Hi Gwenog!

I've told you about the Yule Ball, right? And how I'm too young to go unless I'm escorted by someone older?

Well in the hall after lunch and before charms, Neville cornered me next to a knight and asked me! And sure, he's not the lead singer of the Weird Sisters, I get that, but he's so sweet, you know? He told me that we'd go as friends, 'cause he knows that I like Harry and wanted to go but I'm too young, and he just needed a date. And obviously I said yes.

I had a dream two nights ago where Harry and I went to the ball together. He could actually dance-that's when I knew it was a dream-and I was in a beautiful pink gown that didn't clash with my hair. And we danced, and we kissed under mistletoe, and then Becka woke me up because it was ten minutes to breakfast.

The toast was almost worth it. Almost.

Speaking of dresses...I'm sure mum will send me something horrific...as long as I don't get those ruffly dress robes that smell like dead doxies.

By the way, the most hilarious thing happened yesterday!

Ron, my brother, tried to ask Fleur Delacour to the ball! His face did this really strange twitchy thing, and I'm not sure what possessed him in the first place, but I'm surprised he didn't wet his pants. Maybe he should do that twitchy dance at the ball!

Hermione's apparently going with someone too, and I'm the only one who believes her. She's keeping it a total surprise. At least she's doing better than Ron.

Until later, then!

-Ginny


	4. 4th Year: Improvement, Damn it!

Gwen,

I want to play quidditch.

I've wanted to for a while, probably since I was 6 months old and watched Charlie and Bill zoom around on their Comet 180s in the backyard.

When I was 4 George thought it would be funny to put me on his toy broom-which resulted in me spraining my shoulder when I fell from 8 feet off of the ground. I vividly remember (everyone does, and they make sure to make it known that they do at every family dinner) coming home from St. Mungo's and loudly shouting "I wanna go again!".

But that's just it.

Everyone thinks it's funny that I wanted to fly, and that's why I'm a family joke.

I mean, sure, I've fallen off of a broom a couple of times- but so has Harry Potter, right?

And when George told me over the summer once that maybe I could be a good player, maybe, he just gave me more drive.

No one's noticed my detours to the broom shed in the middle of the night over the summer, and no one's paid any attention to where I've been going during free periods-and the pitch is usually empty. Okay, well maybe Michael's noticed...but at least Umbridge hasn't!

So no one, not anybody, has noticed that I have become _good_. Good. Maybe great! A great chaser (hopefully), a promising seeker, an okay beater, and, well, a real shitty keeper. Real shitty.

I guess I should try and be more modest, really, but honestly, I've worked bloody hard, and I deserve to be proud of my efforts! Seriously! ( not siriously, hardiharhar)

And now if only I could join the Gryffindor team. I've spent too much time on the sidelines and in the shadow of my brilliantly flying brothers (even Ron can when he's not being a nervous tool) and it's about time that I show them that I am capable of more than a bat-bogey hex.

So I've asked Angelina to keep me in mind to be a reserve. She's going to watch me fly tomorrow, alone, and I guess she'll let me know.

Maybe one day Gwen, I'll fly with who you're named after.

And I'll try not to fall.

No promises, though.

-Gin


End file.
